


trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns.

by thewriter8



Series: turned out i'd been following him and he'd been following me. [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:37:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriter8/pseuds/thewriter8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos saw Earl Harlan for the first—and last—time in the Ralph’s. And of course Carlos didn’t know, nor would Cecil want him to know. Because Harlan didn’t matter anymore, and Cecil’s heart was too big that Carlos believed it was scientifically possible to lose anger and bitterness inside it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns.

**Author's Note:**

> posted originally on tumblr, thought it deserved some ao3 love! tw for rape/possible anxiety. just my headcanon on harlan/more precious cecil/carlos headcanons, since most of the fics i've read have carlsberg as the awful ex.

Carlos saw Earl Harlan for the first—and last—time in the Ralph’s. Just a quick, uninterested glance, nothing significant (not like some of the looks he gets from people who know, people who point and whisper to their maybe-children, maybe-otherworldly ruler, “that’s Carlos, you see, look at his hair” and jesus, it is so hard to shop for groceries when a radio celebrity is twitterpated with you). And of course Carlos didn’t know, nor would Cecil want him to know. Because Harlan didn’t matter anymore, and Cecil’s heart was too big that Carlos believed it was scientifically possible to lose anger and bitterness inside it.

The thing about Cecil was that it was like he could heal. Perhaps he can, Carlos wondered one morning, eyeing him over steaming mugs of coffee. Perhaps he has a regenerative ability that keeps his body sound, solid, safe. It could be in the Night Vale water. It could be inherited from his mother, mirrors being the only way to kill him.  
Whatever it is, Carlos was mesmerized by it, and also a bit melancholy. Because the thing about Cecil was his heart should be destroyed. His trust should be shredded. He should be the most jaded being on the planet.  
And yet, because some hypotheses need to be altered and retested in order to be proven plausible, Cecil met Carlos’s eyes with impossible innocence, crumbs of toast all over his face. Cecil said something about needing Carlos to eat faster because ‘look away for a moment, and the tarantulas are scurrying away with breakfast’. Cecil, brave Cecil, perfect Cecil was glowing, positively, absolutely glowing because Carlos was there. Carlos was there, on his third bite of eggs while Cecil took his clean, empty dishes to the sink. Carlos was there, thinking these dark thoughts about the man he may or may not be in love with. Carlos was there, remembering past relationships ending not only in heartbreak but a bit of stitching up as well.  
Carlos was there, and he wondered why Cecil wasn’t terrified.  
——  
Carlos noticed something was wrong when he first heard Cecil scream.  
No, not like that. He’d heard that scream already. He may or may not have taken copious notes later that night on how to get him to scream that way again.  
But Cecil screamed in terror, screamed half in his throat, half with his teeth gritted. Carlos had pinned Cecil to the bed, pinned him by the wrists and hips, let his legs weigh him down. And Cecil let loose an unexpected, hair-raising shout, enough that Carlos leaped off of him, realized his pants were down around his knees, and promptly fell to the floor.  
He looked up at Cecil’s face as it peered down at him from the bed, and Carlos was ashamed. Cecil asked if Carlos was okay, but he could only nod once because he had seen it, he had seen something small and betrayed and horrified in Cecil’s eyes.  
But he never mentioned it. He crawled back on the bed, reached for Cecil. He didn’t flinch, perhaps wound closer, as if nothing had happened. Carlos kissed him gently on the forehead, and then on the nose, and then on the lips.  
And things continued on as they had, but Carlos made sure to remember that Cecil was fragile despite living in chaotic Night Vale, despite being the voice of every creeping thing in town, despite assuring Carlos, time and again, that he was fine being ripped to pieces before Carlos ever ever got a scratch.  
Cecil was fragile, not that anyone knew. No one knew, save for whoever had broken him before.  
——  
Cecil left at 3:46 in the morning, because he was always neurotic about checking his watch. He put whatever clothes he could find back on, but he knew it wasn’t enough to face the cold desert air. He knew it wasn’t enough, but he left Earl Harland’s apartment anyway. He couldn’t find his shoes.  
He walked five miles back to his own apartment. He watched the sun rise. He considered looking at a hooded figure, but decided against it. He began packing his belongings. He used up the money saved from working at the station as an intern on a deposit, a deposit for a secluded apartment at the edge of town. He was putting the maximum amount of miles he could between him and Earl Harlan.  
He thought about shaving his head. He thought about breaking all of his dishes. He thought about leaving Night Vale for the first time since beginning work at the radio station.  
He suffered through the nightmares instead. Because he had them. He had one where Earl found where he lived and burned the whole place down with Cecil inside. He had one where he never left Earl’s apartment and was pinned into complacency. He had one where Earl operated on his heart and ripped it apart only to sew it back together wrong. He had these every night until oh, dear listeners, until Carlos.  
And he stopped worrying. Just like that. Maybe it was Night Vale, maybe it was his constant loyalty, but Cecil knew. He saw Carlos’s face, saw his military-cemetery-smile, saw salvation, just like he saw in Earl Harlan, just like he saw in that one gentleman in Europe.  
And his heart was never broken. It was never damaged. It was still just as full and beating and impossible because of Carlos.  
——  
"Hello, Scout Master Harlan."  
"Oh, please, call me Earl."  
"I’m afraid station management wouldn’t approve of that. I am unfortunately here on official business."  
"That’s too bad."  
"Uh-huh… So, er, Scout Master Harlan, no news yet on Fear Scout status but-"  
"Would you be able to call me Earl if we went out to dinner after this?"  
"Uh-huh…"  
"Good. I’ll pick you up after your broadcast, Cecil."  
"Oh. Good!"  
He was blushing so hard he was turning purple. Because he was interviewing Earl Harlan, with his perfect hands and perfect nose and perfect perfection and had Earl Harlan just asked him out for dinner how could he conduct an interview now he had to go home and change he hadn’t been on a date in so long not since Europe and well let’s not talk about him because Earl Harlan will be different because this is Earl Harlan the beautiful Earl Harlan the perfect Earl Harlan-  
——  
"And er. The date was good."  
Carlos looked at Cecil, Cecil buried in a nest of blankets, because he had subconsciously burrowed himself as he told his story. Carlos waited, desired more, was denied because Cecil will always be polite first.  
"It was good?"  
"Uh-huh."  
"So the two of you just never. Uh. Went out again?"  
"We went out once more."  
"But that didn’t go well?"  
"It was good."  
"Cecil," Carlos licked his lips, fluffed the pillow in his lap, "I’m trying to ask why you two aren’t together anymore."  
"Oh. Er. Right. It didn’t work out."  
"I assumed that."  
"Yeah. So er. Tell me about some of your past relationships.”  
And Carlos couldn’t say no, because Cecil was sprawled across his bed now, no longer holding his body in a shock-blanket-cocoon so he told Cecil about the ghosts that haunted him sometimes because that’s how relationships work and yet, and yet he can’t let it go because he is too close to give up this experiment just now, not yet, just a bit more prodding-  
——  
"Thank you for paying for dinner, Earl."  
"I asked you out, it was my pleasure." He chuckled, and Cecil knew all of Night Vale was chuckling with him. He climbed into the passenger seat as Harlan drove him home.  
"Do you enjoy being the voice of Night Vale, Cecil?"  
"I enjoy investigating. I enjoy knowing the goings-on of our little town. I enjoy living here very much."  
"We enjoy having you as our voice." Earl said with a large grin, and Cecil stole a glance, adored how his teeth were just the slightest bit crooked, his skin the slightest bit sunburned.  
"Thank you. I er. Enjoy speaking." His face flushed because, with a handsome man in front of him instead of a script, Cecil was lost.  
He was also lost because Earl drove past his apartment complex.  
"Oh. Er. We passed my-"  
"I forgot to mention I have dessert at my place. Is that okay with you?" Earl asked, and Cecil vaguely registered what that was supposed to mean.  
"Yeah. I er. Have to be home at a decent hour though. Early interview tomorrow."  
"Well, I’ll call the city council and submit our End of Date Report to save you some time." Earl removed his keys from the ignition, looking at Cecil before exiting the vehicle. Cecil followed, beaming.  
"Thank you! Sure, a little dessert to end the night."  
"Good. I made cheesecake."  
——  
Except he woke up sometimes, covered in a cold, shivering sweat, and Carlos draped blanket after blanket around him, wrapping him up, but leaving his legs free, in case Cecil needed to run, in case Cecil needed to feel like his own man. And Carlos always suffered from a bit of insomnia, so the awkward early hours spent with Cecil, small talk, and mugs of tea don’t bother him. He asked. He always asked.  
"I live in Night Vale, dear Carlos. Everyone is prone to nightmares. I’m surprised you didn’t have one, it was posted on the community calendar…"  
It wasn’t, because Carlos would’ve heard Cecil announce it on the radio. So he asked again.  
"It was about a person who is a ghost now. It was about a person who made me feel unlike myself. It was about a person who doesn’t matter now, because I am older and Night Vale is here for me, because it let you in. It let you find me, my dear Carlos. And, when I shake myself from the nightmares—despite dreaming with a type of lucid paralysis unbeknownst to all mankind—I feel happy. I feel blessed. I feel like I am a part of something so meaningful and important and all-knowing because Night Vale helped me find you." Cecil took a sip of his tea, dropped out of his mesmerizing radio voice, "And believe me, that’s a feat. This town hardly ever has visitors. There are plenty of piles of clothes right outside the border. I’m sure you noticed them on the way in. We assume those clothes had people in them at some point…"  
——  
Dessert lasted two minutes, because it was the time of year for tarantulas, and tarantulas loved cheesecake.  
"That was delicious, Earl. Thank you."  
"My mother’s recipe." Harlan smiled from across the table, wiping his mouth on a napkin. Cecil rose to take their dishes to the sink, and Earl thanked him.  
He rinsed the plate that wasn’t his in the sink that wasn’t his and then he was pressed against the counter that wasn’t his.  
"Keep washing."  
And Cecil did. He reached for the soap while Earl ran his hands through his hair. He scrubbed off the plates while Earl unzipped his slacks. He dried the plates but left the water on because he didn’t like the silence that accompanied Earl’s short, breathy moans. And he finished the dishes before Earl was finished with him, but he let the water steam up his glasses and he let a line of bruises bloom across his pelvis and he watched the clock on the wall tick-tock too slowly.  
——  
It was actually from Red Lobster, but Carlos pretended he had cooked. Steak and shrimp, because that was hearty and he worried often that Cecil wasn’t eating. It was their fourth date. Well, fifth if you counted that one date neither of them remembered except that it had an End of Date Report signed by Cecil (who remains blissfully unconcerned about this fact while Carlos still, to this day, wakes up with an aching jaw, wondering if he’s forgetting more than he’s remembering).  
They ended up on the couch, just sitting quietly, to themselves, until Cecil murmured, “Carlos, may I listen to your heart?”  
"Y-yeah. Uh. Sure," He took a pause and watched Cecil as he leaned slowly, tentatively, then fell like a brick against his chest. He spoke the question he should’ve led with, if Night Vale hadn’t turned him upside-down, "Why?"  
"Your heart beats much much slower than mine."  
"It does?" Carlos asked for science now, for worry, and he immediately moved to rest his own ear against Cecil, the latter letting out a little noise that was neither unpleasant to hear nor unpleasant to have caused. And, as sure as you can be of nothing, Carlos noticed how much faster Cecil’s heartbeat was.  
"Is it singing for you, dear Carlos?" Cecil said with a goofy little grin, enraptured by the way Carlos shook with laughter against his chest.  
"That’s one way of putting it. Your heart is beating fast enough to be considered ridiculously abnormal, but still safe. I suppose."  
"I’m glad."  
"That it’s a bit abnormal?"  
"But still safe." Cecil smiled, lifted Carlos up and held his face in his hands. His thumb traced little circles along his cheekbones and it was like he worked the words from Carlos’s hesitant mouth.  
"Would you like to sleep over tonight?"  
Cecil’s heart became the speed of light, and he had never felt safer in his entire life.  
——  
He tried to protest. He slipped a note under station management’s door. He faked being ill. He even risked the library for an evening. Anything to not cover this story. Anything to avoid it. Not that he was scared or upset. Not really.  
But maybe a little. Because Cecil never wanted things to fall apart with Earl, but they did, and that’s that. He moved on, because it was a rotten situation. And he healed, because it has never been difficult for Cecil to adapt.  
But there are memories, dear listeners, and those climb on your legs and ribs and make bodies feel damp and clingy and ashamed to be seen. And that is how Cecil felt when he was made aware of the Eternal Scouts story. And that is how Cecil felt before he began that evening’s news. And that is precisely how he felt, he felt it creeping up his limbs and holding him down, tying him to his desk and microphone and chair, forcing him to feel Earl’s breath against his ear again as he whispered ‘we could’ve had something, Cecil. Always remember that.’.  
Cecil regretted Earl being taken. He regretted he hadn’t said more to him. He regretted shaking under his desk after the broadcast finished, because maybe they could’ve had something, but mostly he had never felt more alone in his life.  
——  
It had been a year, and he tried to get out of reporting this too. But Station Management roared through their doors when they read his note, so Cecil dropped the subject.  
He wore black. He wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t in mourning. But he dressed like the ceremony was a funeral and, in a way, it was, because there were two Scouts behind glass and countless people transported to another dimension or dead or serving their mother’s cheesecake to naive men and he was meant to report on them fondly and he wasn’t sure he could.  
Cecil went to Carlos’s lab the moment the ceremony was over. And Carlos didn’t hold him, partially because he was covered in an unknown substance he had found in the dumpster behind the Arby’s, mostly because Cecil refused him. He refused him for the first and last time, sitting on one of the counters in the lab. He sat and he didn’t speak, because his voice was tired from the show, but mostly he wasn’t sure what to say.  
And, when Cecil finally hopped off the counter and gave Carlos a small, tired smile, Carlos placed one of his clean lab coats around Cecil’s shoulders. He drove Cecil home. He did not go inside the apartment with him, because Cecil had not offered, and Carlos dared not overstep his bounds.  
And Carlos woke up the next morning to a box of Red Lobster coupons on his porch, a note scrawled in squid ink reading ‘ThAnk YOu, my DeaR CARLOS. dINner?’  
He smiled like a fool, standing in the early morning air in his bathrobe, and he might’ve wanted to weep a bit because he knew Cecil’s ghosts and wanted so terribly to listen to his too-fast heart, but mainly he wished Red Lobster served breakfast.  
——


End file.
